A Winking Snake and the Plait of Destiny
by Quibily
Summary: Tia Dalma and Jack Sparrow: an unlikely pair. Yet, whether a young preCurse of the Black Pearl Captain Jack likes it or not, she will leave her mark on him. Her own touch of destiny.


"A Winking Snake and the Plait of Destiny"

By "Cock-Eyed" Quincer

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There was a woman with a snake.

There, beneath the fading lamp and the tavern sign embedded with bullets, she stood. She stood like a statue of a fierce Roman goddess, chin firm and eyes overcast.

_And a divinely ample chest,_ Jack Sparrow thought, coming to a halt at the site.A beautiful brown bosom and neck—"and shiny."

Had he said that out loud?

"Dat kohl 'round yer eyes don't he'p hiding where ye looking," she mused as Jack looked away to protect his face from a good slap.

"My apologies, madam," Jack turned and bowed gallantly to her—as gallantly as five rums would allow.

However, before he could finish, the woman emitted a low and inviting sound. It was so resounding that Jack started.

Her pur ascended to, "Ye know as well as I—I am no madam."

She stroked the snake about her neck like a prided jewel. As if suddenly waking up, the snake slithered along the woman's arms. It was looking Jack dead in the eyes, as if it, too, were a part of the conversation.

It hissed a high, mellow hiss. Stepping away, Jack reacted with a squirm and also stuck his tongue out.

"Granted, I 'ave faith that you are, at least, a syllable of said title."

The woman laughed a patient, knowing laugh. The snake curled over her chest.

"A witty pirate. A witty pirate, indeed."

Jack blinked repeatedly and thought,_ Rum's makin' me see winking snakes . . ._ _I 'ope . . ._

At that, all physical attraction was gone. Although he did a minute ago, Jack did not like the ravenous way she was staring at him. He felt exposed as gusts of wind blew up the nape of his bare neck and chin.

"Come wit' me," she said as she turned around. "We have business, I believe."

She left no room for arguing. Jack followed—out of curiosity, he convinced himself. He fell in step with the woman's fluid gait.

Jack knew he had approached the fringe of the busy port of Tortuga at an arched, stone bridge. Perched on the stone bridge, a pirate was merrily swinging his feet and drinking out of a generously-huge flagon of alcohol. Looking between Tia Dalma and Jack Sparrow, he smiled a checkered, taunting grin. He reclined back and splattered himself with rum.

Jack was washed over with embarrassment when the plump pirate looked at him. What was he doing? Here he was—a man—dutifully following a wench like a dog!

Quickly getting slightly under the bridge and out of the man's sight, Jack indignantly said, "Why am I following you? I'm Captain Jack—"

Before he could finish, Jack found himself breaking the drinking man's fall. The drunk pirate and Jack landed in a groaning heap. The man lay on top of him, guffawing and puffing in Jack's face while setting his drink down. Jack shoved the man off and sat up. Still guffawing and looking directly at Jack Sparrow, the man galumphed away in a drunken stupor. Jack glowered at him.

The woman's and the snake's dark eyes met Jack's as if to say, "Any more questions?"

"Love--if that was a supposed-display of your own _mystical _doing, I must say it's a very poor one," Jack stood up and planted his feet evenly onto the ground. "That 'appens to me _all _the time."

Eyes always wandering, Jack noticed the inviting mug on the ground. He gestured to it and said, "See? Some good fortune for ol' Jack: a free drink!" With a sweeping motion, Jack picked up the large drinking vessel and lifted it to his mouth.

It was empty.

He looked at her; she raised her eyebrows slightly.

He looked at the cup again.

"Blimey, wench! Why the rum?!"

As a response, she merely turned around and walked on. Jack sighed, pouted, and then followed the erratic woman with wild hair and calm eyes.

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"If ya can take me to da most abandoned island ya've come across, I will grant ya t'ree t'ings," the woman said when they arrived on a beach, a good walking distance away from the lights and crowds of Tortuga.

Jack perked up. "Oh?"  
"T'ree charms; I specialize in charms."

"Oh." Jack eyed the snake as it was basking in the warm sand.

"Y'are a Captain, are ya not?"

"Aye," he said. He was not looking at her, but at the ground. He fervently kicked the sand, forming a barrier between him and the snake.

"I know ya no believe in a woman's curse on a ship," she told him as she pulled out a small tube from her bosom. Her concentration seemed to be elsewhere, for her eyes slowly panned to the right.

"Ah. You've been misinformed, love. I do believe. But, I do believe bad luck in the weather can be to my advantage."

With the tube to her mouth, the woman sharply blew out what looked like a dart. Without a word, she stood up and walked to her right.

The snake began to follow.

"Well, I'm so sorry that didn't work out for ye—so I'll be getting as far away as possible now."

"Jack Sparrow."

Before he could move very far, the woman emerged from the darkness. Jack could not understand how, but she knew his full name. And, with a dead rat in her hands, she sat back on the beach.

"Running provokes a hungry snake more dan anyt'ing else I know." She laughed, "Den I would have to eat dis rat myself, Cap'n Sparrow."

Jack froze, sighed, and then collapsed, sitting onto the sand.

"Knife," the woman held her hand out to him.

He smiled halfway. "You're not gonna make that fall on me, _too_, are you?" Nonetheless, he reached into his coat and handed her a small knife—very slowly.

As she plunged the knife into the unconscious rat's side, she said, "Jack Sparrow, what is ya answer?"

He couldn't quite answer then; he could scarcely breathe. His stomach was crawling, also, as he watched the snake hungrily gorge the rat.

"Spoil that bugger, don't you?" Jack ripped his eyes away from the disgusting site. He had to get out of here.

"Meet me at the bloody Port at bloody dawn," he pouted. Then, he could get up.

_Time to flee._

"Ye'll no regret it," the woman murmured musically.

The next day Jack navigated the tainted Pearl through the misty dawn air. Sailing proved to be harder than he had surmised; though it was a crisp and clear morning on the port, once his black sails were up, darkness engulfed Tortuga. Everything had a deep blue tint, and the winds of a threatening storm pulsed relentlessly in the crew's ears.

"Cap'n! Let's jes' throw 'er overboard! We can't sail through this!" one crew member wailed up to the helm.

Jack whirled the helm wheel, the knobs smacking him on the chin. He grunted.

He looked balefully at the witch called Tia Dalma. "Ye're a bloody witch! Can't you whirl around, wave yer skinny arms, and make it stop?"  
She looked on with calm amusement, draping her elbows over the railing ahead of him.

"One t'ing ya asked on dis trip, wasn' it, Jack? Ya said leave de snake."

"Dis is de emptiest island ya know?"

Tia Dalma calmly strutted to the edge of The Black Pearl, grasping a rope to climb down. She threw her bag overboard.

"That _is _what you wanted," Jack said, surveying her face for some clue that he may soon get his own prize.

"Follow me," were her last words before she shot down the rope and onto the beach.

It was night before Tia Dalma stopped leading Jack into the island. Jack had followed silently, though his thoughts were plagued with thoughts of mutiny; he wondered if his crew had listened to him and were still waiting along the coast. They knew the great things the strange woman had promised for Jack:

"I could even wish for a of endless rum!" Jack had told his awestruck crew in an attempt to show that their side-trip to a little, unimportant island would be worthwhile.

Now, Jack saw Tia Dalma turn to him and asked, "Do I get me trinkets now?"

She evenly nodded and sat down. Jack sat, too.

"Oh, goody. Well, how about . . . perpetual knowledge of where treasure is at all times?" he steepled his hands and rocked in place.

"Betta' even."

She dove her hands into her worn-out sack.

After much searching and swearing, Tia Dalma drw out her hand. In her hand, she held a compass. She held it precariously in her palm, swaying her hand this way and that; Jack's eyes obediently followed.

"A compass?"

"Dat points to da t'ing de holder wants most in de world."

Jack took it.

"Escape from being killed?"

"From all t'ings but de supernatural, my two charms can help ya," Tia smiled at him while she blindly grabbed in her bag. "Now, where are dey?"

Tia Dalma opened her bag wider. She murmured to herself.

"Can't make it magically appear?" Jack said anxiously.

"Ya would t'ink—after all deese years . . ." Tia Dalma scoffed.

The fog seemed to grow thicker with each breath Jack took. _That's quite enough of the foreboding weather, thanks much!_ Jack thought as he leaned closer to Tia Dalma.

"'Ow's it coming, Tia Dalma?"

For some particular reason, Jack could not simply call her Tia—using her first name was too much like regarding someone as a friend.

Or as a _human being_.

She suddenly broke out into a grin. She croaked, "Ah-ha! Ya need a cache—dat's why I no find de charms!"

"What?"

"We drink!" She pulled out two jars of alcohol. They pinged musically in Jack's ears.

Sprawled over two gnarly tree roots, Jack Sparrow lie.

"Another rum?! I think I can handle another," the pirate hiccupped up into Tia Dalma's face.

"A bottomless rum bag; that's what I want! No crew'll ever want to desert me then!"

Tia Dalma laughed deeply in her throat. Sitting up beside Jack, she traced her hand along his chest, mustache, and ponytail.

"I love you, love—ye know that?" Jack said as he snatched his seventh rum bottle. "Like a sister . . . You actually remind me of 'er. She played with me 'air, too. Couldn't stand that I was prettier than 'er."

Tia Dalma listened patiently—and soberly—to the rambling Jack Sparrow. Unbeknownst to the pirate, she meanwhile took up his body in a sitting position and began to take out the leather strap that collected his hair in a ponytail. She caressed his hair out of his face slowly.

"I'd never 'ad rum, then. A travesty, really. I love you, rum; I love you—ow!"

Tia flinched a little as she tried to sort through Jack's ebony tangle of hair. It was an impressive tangle of hair, the wild-haired woman had to confess; she did not need to do much to make them dreadlocks.

Jack Sparrow heaved his body in a hiccup, "Can I do _your _'air next?"

"By all means," nodded Tia Dalma, who then dropped her hands and looked at her handiwork . . .

He needed something—

"A plait!" she said aloud . . .

"Not a French one, I 'ope . . . Don't want to be a eunich.—Can I tell ye a secret?"

"Tell me."

"I can't sing. Not a bloody note, 'ow 'ard I try—Oooh, a shiny."

Jack stared on at a little charm held up by Tia Dalma.

She nodded.

"Two ankhs to represent life." The witch tied them into the abyss of his dreadlocks. Then she widely smiled to show her sooty, blackened teeth.

Jack grinned back, wiped his face, and looked on sincerely.

"Mind if I pass out on you chest?" he said.

However, he did not wait for an answer to do just that.

Two hours passed before the pirate captain came to. He became conscious just in time to hear a chorus of laughter.

"Look at 'im! Curled up like a baby!"

Jack looked at his empty hands and started.

"'Oo took me compass?"

The black box promptly fell on him. He snatched it, rubbed his head, and slowly stood.

His long black hair flowed down to his shoulders in a thriving mass.

What had that witch done?! Why had she left him? He had one more wish left . . .

He remembered the ankhs.

"Ha!" he belted in a big sailor's face.

As a scorching blush threatened to come to his face, Jack tried to stand tall.

"Yes, yes—laugh all ye want! I won't be the one gutted in at the gallows."

"Of course, sir, because they wouldn't dare as kill a delicate _lay_-dee such as would please---yerself."

Briskly pushing past them, Jack cursed that he ever met the woman who had embarrassed, enslaved, and tricked him out of his masculinity.

"One—two ankhs—third bloody compass pointing bloody nowhere. May hell pour over the earth before I ever see that witch again!"

Later that year, he grew a beard—and kept the dreadlocks as his fame as an escapist pirate grew.

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_A/N: A plait is an old word for braid._

Hope you have as much fun reading as I did writing


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